10-08-2015, 03:40 PM
As the bloody space marine and the dirty bandit passed through the gate, she was suddenly struck with how odorless her previous environment was by comparison. Even as her eyes adjusted to the new light, she was overwhelmed with new sensations. The smell of grass, of clean, clear air, flowering plants, even the scent of a distant farm was fresh and new. To her, the scent of Camelot would always define it: vegetal and crisp, warm and homey.
As the brightness of the sunlight faded from her eyes, a green, rolling landscape unraveled before her, trees dotting the quaint hills and bundling together into thickets, a gently running creek was somewhere gurgling away. At first, she was so shocked she froze in place, unmoving and unsure of what to do. Slowly, her darting eyes melted from surprise to wonder and she knelt down, pushing her hand into the lush turf, allowing the blades to push up between her fingers.
“Oh my god,” she said, almost subconsciously, “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She searched the ground, seeing the tiny ants scurrying, the layers of twigs and leaves. A dandelion poked up, its bright yellow smiling up at her. “Is this what it’s like everywhere?” she asked, still kneeling on the ground.
The marine shrugged, “Aye?” He shook his head gently and pointed towards a large crowd of people, “I see where we’re meant to go.”
“Alright,” the bandit murmured, barely paying attention, still watching the tiny creatures that scurried over the ground. Planting the hammer back on her shoulder, she grabbed the handle of her laser rifle and moved it back out of the way before standing. She took another deep breath of the fresh air and exhaled, an invigorated look on her face. “Alright, I’m coming.”
Running after the gigantic man, she caught up with his limping stride. “Seriously, this is what the world is like? Why are people always screwing around in the Dunes if there’s all this just waiting for them? Is some sandbox really worth it to them?”
The marine moved onward, his loose, rusting chainmail rattling with each stride, “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Sighing, she looked over the hills and across the distant planes, the trailing line of people snaking over the roads and through the valleys. Each of them were wildly different, though most of them sported clothing that was simply made and rarely cleaned. Her limited knowledge of chronology as related technology told her that they seemed antiquated, though there were some amid them that had amazingly beautiful adornments. Others seemed just as out of place as she did, with metallic gear or glowing digital screens held up in front of their faces as they trudged past the serene pastures and wildlife.
“Every one of those people has a story, you know that?” she mused, trying to fill the silence. “Most Primes assume w-“ she caught herself almost identifying, “that Secondaries are just sort of… filler, you know? Faces in the crowd. We don’t count to most of you.” She shook her head, “I mean, they don’t count much.”
“Hm,” the tall man huffed, “I suppose. I suppose others simply don’t notice other people at all.”
The bandit idly spun the hammer on her shoulder, the head twirling back and forth. “I guess. I just don’t see how Primes can be so callous towards Secondaries, but care so much about other Primes. I guess when you make a person, it’s easy to see them as just objects. Fuck, some Secondaries are barely that; their creators didn’t put much thought into their creations so they really are just mindless faces that complete a task. But that’s not everyone, you know? A lot of Secondaries lead rich lives, or hurt, or… whatever, you know? Sure, we are, I mean they are what we make them, but most of the time you can’t help but slip a little humanity in with the meat, you know?”
The bandit stopped talking and the two continued their walk, the tall man offering no reply for a long time. “There are as many stories as there are people,” he spoke with patience. “For as many people as there are, there are just as many battles. Some battles are easier, some more doomed, but it is in the conviction for your task that you find solace. Without purpose, there is nothing.”
She looked up to the battle-worn warrior, noticing the deep gauges in his armor and the chips along the edge of his blade. Her eyes caught on a faded insignia on his sprawling pauldron, barely noticeable for all the rust and scraped paint. “What’s your mission?”
The giant lumbered onward, eyes focused on the horizon.
The throngs of people herded towards the sprawling stadium in droves, the rowdy patrons compacted along the wide roads as they entered the vomitorium. The citizens kept a wide berth of the two armored fighters, if not for his size, then for her spikes.
It was easy to locate the large, welcoming registration table, and a chipper young clerk sat behind it, a tall feather quill in his hand. “Are you two signing up for the melee?” he asked, smoothing back a stray strand from his comb over into place on top of his shiny, bald head.
“I know I am,” the bandit spoke up quickly.
“Very well!” he sang, “And what name shall I put under your entry?”
Frowning the bandit crossed her arms and scoffed, “I don’t need a name.”
“Then what shall I put you under, miss?” he snapped back.
Thinking for a moment, the woman grinned, her gruesome skull-makeup making her look all the more sinister. “The Bandit With No Name.”
As the brightness of the sunlight faded from her eyes, a green, rolling landscape unraveled before her, trees dotting the quaint hills and bundling together into thickets, a gently running creek was somewhere gurgling away. At first, she was so shocked she froze in place, unmoving and unsure of what to do. Slowly, her darting eyes melted from surprise to wonder and she knelt down, pushing her hand into the lush turf, allowing the blades to push up between her fingers.
“Oh my god,” she said, almost subconsciously, “I’ve never seen anything like this.” She searched the ground, seeing the tiny ants scurrying, the layers of twigs and leaves. A dandelion poked up, its bright yellow smiling up at her. “Is this what it’s like everywhere?” she asked, still kneeling on the ground.
The marine shrugged, “Aye?” He shook his head gently and pointed towards a large crowd of people, “I see where we’re meant to go.”
“Alright,” the bandit murmured, barely paying attention, still watching the tiny creatures that scurried over the ground. Planting the hammer back on her shoulder, she grabbed the handle of her laser rifle and moved it back out of the way before standing. She took another deep breath of the fresh air and exhaled, an invigorated look on her face. “Alright, I’m coming.”
Running after the gigantic man, she caught up with his limping stride. “Seriously, this is what the world is like? Why are people always screwing around in the Dunes if there’s all this just waiting for them? Is some sandbox really worth it to them?”
The marine moved onward, his loose, rusting chainmail rattling with each stride, “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Sighing, she looked over the hills and across the distant planes, the trailing line of people snaking over the roads and through the valleys. Each of them were wildly different, though most of them sported clothing that was simply made and rarely cleaned. Her limited knowledge of chronology as related technology told her that they seemed antiquated, though there were some amid them that had amazingly beautiful adornments. Others seemed just as out of place as she did, with metallic gear or glowing digital screens held up in front of their faces as they trudged past the serene pastures and wildlife.
“Every one of those people has a story, you know that?” she mused, trying to fill the silence. “Most Primes assume w-“ she caught herself almost identifying, “that Secondaries are just sort of… filler, you know? Faces in the crowd. We don’t count to most of you.” She shook her head, “I mean, they don’t count much.”
“Hm,” the tall man huffed, “I suppose. I suppose others simply don’t notice other people at all.”
The bandit idly spun the hammer on her shoulder, the head twirling back and forth. “I guess. I just don’t see how Primes can be so callous towards Secondaries, but care so much about other Primes. I guess when you make a person, it’s easy to see them as just objects. Fuck, some Secondaries are barely that; their creators didn’t put much thought into their creations so they really are just mindless faces that complete a task. But that’s not everyone, you know? A lot of Secondaries lead rich lives, or hurt, or… whatever, you know? Sure, we are, I mean they are what we make them, but most of the time you can’t help but slip a little humanity in with the meat, you know?”
The bandit stopped talking and the two continued their walk, the tall man offering no reply for a long time. “There are as many stories as there are people,” he spoke with patience. “For as many people as there are, there are just as many battles. Some battles are easier, some more doomed, but it is in the conviction for your task that you find solace. Without purpose, there is nothing.”
She looked up to the battle-worn warrior, noticing the deep gauges in his armor and the chips along the edge of his blade. Her eyes caught on a faded insignia on his sprawling pauldron, barely noticeable for all the rust and scraped paint. “What’s your mission?”
The giant lumbered onward, eyes focused on the horizon.
-----
The throngs of people herded towards the sprawling stadium in droves, the rowdy patrons compacted along the wide roads as they entered the vomitorium. The citizens kept a wide berth of the two armored fighters, if not for his size, then for her spikes.
It was easy to locate the large, welcoming registration table, and a chipper young clerk sat behind it, a tall feather quill in his hand. “Are you two signing up for the melee?” he asked, smoothing back a stray strand from his comb over into place on top of his shiny, bald head.
“I know I am,” the bandit spoke up quickly.
“Very well!” he sang, “And what name shall I put under your entry?”
Frowning the bandit crossed her arms and scoffed, “I don’t need a name.”
“Then what shall I put you under, miss?” he snapped back.
Thinking for a moment, the woman grinned, her gruesome skull-makeup making her look all the more sinister. “The Bandit With No Name.”